


West of the Moon, East of the Sun

by CRMediaGal



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:19:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3129296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CRMediaGal/pseuds/CRMediaGal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A king without family or love. A She-Elf without residence or optimism. Both are looking for the same thing, if only they could spot it in each other. A tale of forgiveness, renewed hope, and love. Thranduil/Tauriel. Post-BotFA, The Hobbit era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awarth (Abandonment)

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N : Hello, dear readers! **
> 
> **I've fallen - nay, crashed hard and burned - into _The Hobbit_ fandom. (Nothing like being ridiculously behind all of the hype!). Thus, I present you with my Thranduil x Tauriel fanfic, which you can also follow over on FFN. Latest updates will first be posted there.**
> 
> **Important Notes Before Reading : This story marks my first foray into writing this rare pairing, which I've grown immensely fond of, as well as writing for the Tolkien fandom, so I beg your patience with me throughout this process. (Tolkien's world is quite overwhelming, to put it lightly). You may feel free to point out any inaccuracies you find, but please do bear in mind that this is a work of fanfiction and, therefore, everything will be deviating from canon to a certain extent. As such, this fic follows the movie version of _The Hobbit_ (and some of _The Lord of the Rings_ ), not J. R. R. Tolkien's epic novels. I've researched certain aspects where its necessary, though (and hopefully accurately!). **
> 
> **Fic is rated M for later mature content. I sincerely hope that readers of the Tolkien fandom will enjoy this tale as much as I'll be enjoying writing it. Reviews are welcomed and appreciated! Without your thoughts, it isn't worth sharing.**
> 
> **Disclaimer : _The Hobbit_ and _The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

'Because it was real.'

That had been the mighty king's reply to the She-Elf's sorrow. His words had been arresting, too; long-lasting and still heavily engraved in her mind.

So simple, so profound, _so befitting_...

Tauriel had repeated them over and over to herself since then—that painful, exquisite truth that spoke of her heart's agonising despair—and yet, in the long, lonely year since her experience with grief had first began, she had gained no parting wisdom from its cruel message. It's repetition hadn't lessened the ache that continued to crush her heart, sucking whatever light out of her being it could devour.

 _It doesn't matter_ , she told herself. _Nothing matters anymore_.

Indeed Tauriel, a once esteemed and spirited captain of the Mirkwood guards, had her flickering moments where the clouds momentarily parted and showed her the travelling stars—quick glimpses of brightness in an otherwise desolate darkness, of which she found no peace or quiet—but the utter hopelessness and loss still lingered on, hanging about her immortal person like a burden unshed, never seemingly intended to be parted.

_How much longer?_

Did mortals tend to mourn their losses forever? How could such a tremendous weight such as Grief be endured? Surely, the pain that Tauriel felt would as easily kill a mortal being, so how did they manage to carry on? How would she carry on, particularly without anywhere to call home, where she might be permitted respite and rest from her weary heart?

Tauriel had lost track of time ages ago and wandered the outer realms of her homeland without much thought. The amount of tears she had shed since Kíli's passing at the Battle of the Five Armies couldn't be accounted, nor could the She-Elf recall how she had survived to the present day.

Again, there wasn't much consideration for the day to day. One year in the life of an Elf was only a blink of the eye to mere mortals; a single exhale of breath.

_It means nothing._

Under the setting sun in Éothéod, where Tauriel had kept camp to the far east, she dwelled alone—a wanderer; a lone Elf with no permanent residence or kindred spirits to sing and dance and rejoice in the changing of the ages.

_You're alone, Tauriel. There is no going back, forward, sideways... Anywhere._

Tauriel watched the sun sneak behind the Misty Mountain, her emerald eyes hollow and unlife-like as they turned, with morbid heartache, towards the direction of where the dwarf who had once captured her heart was decayed and buried. It was there that he lay in death alongside his brother and their king, Thorin, passing into memory, into shadow...

_Where I cannot follow._

'Do you think she could have loved me?' the dwarf had asked her once, gazing upon Tauriel as though she was someone else and not the shining star of his deepest wish.

_If only I'd answered. If only I'd told him, 'Yes'._

The sky grew pink, purple, and then black, nightfall disguising Tauriel's lamented tears as she retreated to her camp to cry another night. Alone.

*** * ***

_"Ada!"_

_The Elven king, Thranduil, gently turned his head in search of the source of such a splendid, musical greeting. Internally, he wanted to wail; to wrap up his son—the only family he had left—in his arms and never, ever let him go. He refrained from succumbing to his personal sorrows. This was a celebration as much as a bittersweet victory for their people, and he wouldn't spoil it with tears._

_The king's sharp eyes spotted young Legolas amongst the crowd of well-wishers—their people—who had gathered at the front gates to welcome their king and his legions home from battle. There was much singing and rejoicing, with tossings of dying flowers and autumn leaves being strewn at his feet. The elven prince was no more than three feet high, but his lightness of foot was on proud display as he snuck softly between gatherers, fast approaching the grand elk his father rode and sporting the handsomest of grins to welcome him home._

_"Lonneg," Thranduil returned quietly, arms outstretched to receive the child gladly._

_Using the leg of the enormous beast to boost himself into the air, the Elven prince, Legolas, swung up and into his father's embrace, his tinier arms wrapping eagerly around Thranduil's neck._

_"Ada! You've returned!" he exclaimed happily, smiling as Thranduil pressed a feathery kiss to the top of his pale head._

_"I have." Thranduil reared back to return his son's bright smile, but his crystal blue eyes hinted at something else; something far graver than the ceremony that greeted him, weighing heavily upon his heart in such a way that it couldn't be contained from the highly perceptive child. "My, but how much you've grown!" the king added, his attempt at laughter short-lived._

_Legolas's blue irises, also as sharp as the kings, grew thoughtful. "Ada," he pressed Thranduil in a whisper, his gaze darting about the king's face, "where is Nana?"_

_Thranduil's strained smile slipped his mouth, surprising Legolas as his father's eyes turned watery and the beautiful lines on his face soured and deepened. He lips wove tightly together, too, the words that followed seemingly difficult to release._

_"Legolas," Thranduil began delicately, his register small and tender, "my son... Nana has..."_

_"Yes, Ada?" asked the child seriously; he angled his head of golden hair, waiting._

_Thranduil pressed Legolas closer to his chest, bringing them forehead to forehead. "Nana has...fallen."_

_Thranduil watched the prince blink a few times, his mind—and heart—trying to process the gravity of these words. "Nana?" Legolas repeated, staring up at Thranduil imploringly; the innocence in that cherished face shattered the king's heart. "She's...gone, Ada?"_

_"Yes, Legolas... Nana is gone. She fell...in battle."_

_Thranduil closed his eyes and rested his head against Legolas's, who, for a long moment, continued to search his father's tragic face, as though he required a more in-depth explanation for his mother's absence. The queen had gone off to fight alongside her king. The prince had never doubted that she wouldn't return with him. His mother and father were never without each other. How could it be so now, and forevermore?_

_Thranduil hugged his son tightly, feeling the little Elf shift and wiggle within his all-consuming embrace; but, he couldn't let go. He wasn't ready. After all he had lost, he couldn't lose the child as well, so he held on with all his might._

_Then a pair of miniature lips suddenly kissed the side of Thranduil's cheek, where a lone tear had fallen, unseen by the masses but caught by the young prince. With difficulty, Thranduil's eyes opened to receive Legolas's childlike warmth and fondness, unchanged despite the terribly sad news. The Elven prince re-secured his arms around his father's neck and whispered words into his ear that now haunted Thranduil every hour of the day._

_"I'm sorry Nana's gone," he murmured mournfully. "I shall never leave you, Ada."_

Thranduil's jaw unconsciously tightened as he sat in the solitary silence of his bedchambers, the trimmings and furnishings of which had been carved from the oldest oak of the forest. Here, he listened intently to the leaves that crumbled and withered outside, viewable beyond his open windows. He heard every single one as it detached from a branch and descended to the ground on the shoulders of the wind, seemingly without a sound. The ear of an Elven king heard them as they came to rest, however, one by one.

Today, and like many before it, such merciful signals from nature brought Thranduil no tranquility. Instead, the sight and sound of each falling leaf was like pouring salt into an old wound that refused to heal. It festered and worsened, piercing him with emotional pain and turmoil unmatched since the death of his beloved wife.

_He's gone, Vanya, and likely never to return. I lost you, and, now, my son is lost to me._

Thranduil inhaled a deep breath, wishing to still his bleak thoughts. How much more agony and suffering must he personally withstand? Had he not led his people for thousands of years with just, wisdom, and goodwill?

His family was gone, his lineage now forsaken. All the world would inevitably turn to darkness, and he and those of his people who remained would be called upon yet again to aid in the war against Sauron. How much more Elven blood must be spilt? How many more immortal lives must be cut short under his command?

_None._

Thranduil's grip upon his carven staff of oak tightened as a gentle breeze kicked up and swept through the palace windows, catching on the king's long golden hair, whipping it freely about his shoulders.

Would it not be best to sail to the Grey Havens now, and be done with this godforsaken realm that had brought upon him nothing but ruin and misery?

_No. Not while my son still roams out there...somewhere...beyond my reach._

'I cannot go back,' had been Legolas's parting words to his father last they crossed paths at the Battle of the Five Armies a year ago.

In the end, Legolas's departure hadn't been unexpected, but it wounded Thranduil, nevertheless, to watch his son go.

Regardless of their differences of opinion on many crucial matters, none more so then the growing spread of Sauron's dark influences in the world, they had always had one another's backs. Father's and son's petty arguments and disagreements were many, particularly as Legolas grew older, but, still, they remained as close as ever, their bond unbreakable; or, as it turns out, so Thranduil had wrongfully believed.

 _To think he would choose..._ her _over me!_

The pounding in Thranduil's head was abruptly disrupted by the arrival of an Elven maid, who brought forth his requested wine and dinner for the evening in a silver goblet on a matching silver platter.

Thranduil hastily dismissed her and helped himself to his first sip of the wine, the contents of which trickled smoothly down the back of his throat, easing some of the unwritten tension festering within.

 _Legolas wouldn't have left if it hadn't been for_ her _influence! his conscious heatedly toiled over. That notorious Captain of the Guard! I should never have allowed him so much freedom, Vanya. Our son was so easily swayed by Tauriel; too good-natured to see past her charms to the faults within her character._

In a flash, Thranduil was on his feet and circling the room with fierce stride and power, the skin on the left-side of his face shrinking to nothing but alarmingly red, taut muscle. His left eye, too, glowed misty and grey, no longer Elf-like but something far more sinister and terrible.

_I was right to have banished her; that treacherous, faithless dog! Because of Tauriel, I have lost my family. I have lost everything that is near and precious to me, including my only son._

Thranduil's robes billowed from behind as he stalked to a window and looked out upon the far reaches of his realm. All was calm, undisturbed, but for the thoughts raging in the angry king's mind.

_May she bemoan her disloyalty. May she never know peace, just as I have hardly known of it myself._

'I cannot go back.' The words wrung in the Elven king's head louder and more bitter than ever, turning over and over without rest.

_Nor can I, my son. Nor can I._

*** * ***

That morning started out like any other: uneventful, mundane, and entirely typical.

Tauriel awoke at dawn's first light, unable to fall back asleep (and not really caring whether or not that she had the freedom to choose). A light rain had fallen during the night, marking the ground and caking it with mud. Tauriel cared not. She set out for the river, an approximate six-mile hike on foot; but, for an Elf, such an endeavour was hardly tiresome. She arrived in virtually no time at all, unmindful of the picturesque walk that had brought her to this treasured spot.

Well, not treasured. _Expected_ , more like.

The leaves had long since turned to a speckle of lush golden fires and crimson reds, though Tauriel paid the changing of the season little mind. Such natural transformations were of great importance to her kin and normally celebrated at the first full moon, but, as Tauriel was no longer a part of the Woodland realm, she couldn't find the joy in her heart to commemorate the coming of autumn; certainly, not on her own.

 _What does it matter?_ For the always veering She-Elf, the answer was continuously the same: _None of it matters anymore._

Tauriel sought refuge beneath an enormous mound of rock to wash her clothes with limited supplies she had gathered on her aimless journey. It had probably been a week since she had last bathed, but cleanliness was another importance the former Elven captain found herself not keeping track of. Besides, she had found that any lingering stench she carried kept strangers at a distance, and that was an added welcome. Most were too suspicious at spotting a wandering Elf of no homage to bother her, and Tauriel hadn't the patience or the will to explain her story to those who were curious.

What a juicy tale the locals would make of Tauriel's plight, if they knew: a She-Elf banished by her king for disobeying his command that she return home rather than track Orcs, only to meet him on the battlefield, where she defied him further by pointing an arrow directly at his face, threatened to kill him should he attempt to pass, and proclaimed to him and their people who bore witness that 'there was no love' in her king.

 _A juicy tale indeed_ , she scoffed as she headed back to her camp by dusk, the clothes on her back now properly dry and unsoiled.

The ground was no longer mucky, making the trek far easier on foot, though, as an Elf, Tauriel hardly required good weather on her side to saunter her way back with success. She reached camp as the last of daylight settled behind the Misty Mountain, only realising as she crept into her tent that she hadn't eaten a thing all day.

 _Too much effort_ , she determined without much consideration, and quickly settled in for the night. _Perhaps I'll eat something tomorrow._

_Or you could let yourself waste away?_

_Don't be a fool. You're hardly the 'type' to off yourself. What kind of an Elf would resort to such measures? No, Tauriel... Centre yourself. Besides, if you'd really wanted to die back there on the mountain, you'd have done so._

_If only..._

_Yes... If only I'd died with him._

Tauriel's heavy eyelids closed, and, soon, she was fast asleep, dreaming of another time, not very long ago, when she had come so close to uttering the one word that might have changed everything for her and the dwarf she had grown to love: 'Yes'.

_Yes... I could have loved him._

Tauriel wasn't aware of the cloaked group of twelve who descended upon her tent until it was almost too late. The barely audible snap of twigs outside her tent shot the former captain of the king's guard eyes open, her bow and arrows at the ready. Although highly skilled in combat, Tauriel wasn't equipped to outfight twelve of her own kin, and the startling realisation of who she was fighting against cost her the initial advantage in hearing their approach.

Disoriented, and thoroughly confused by the appearance of Elven guards in these parts, Tauriel found herself swiftly overrun and dragged away from her camp under the cover of darkness, into the thickest parts of the forest where she could no longer see the stars.

_Perhaps...at last...I'm to meet my end._


	2. Gumlaith (Weariness of Spirit)

After minutes of being manhandled by two aggressive guards, whose hands were securely coiled about her arms, Tauriel managed to break free of their excruciating confines; but, that was as far as she managed before a series of arrows were pointed at her from every direction.

"I don't require your pushing and shoving to walk obediently!" she bravely snapped at them, emerald eyes aglow with suppressed uncertainty as they darted from Elven guard to Elven guard before her.

Tauriel recognised their faces, though each tried to feign their own awareness of who she was. She had once trained them as their captain, and yet, she was now on the opposite end of what had once been cordial relations based upon mutual respect and regard.

Tonight, she was a mere prisoner in their cold-stone eyes; a She-Elf of no particular value or importance.

"You will come with us," said the guard seemingly heading this outing, his eyes razor-edged as they stared at Tauriel like that of a stranger; he refused to lower his bow and arrow an inch, the others following his lead.

The guard's blatant lack of trust pained Tauriel to witness. Firverior, a Silvan Elf of the same rank as herself, with long, auburn hair and intensely dark eyes, had been Tauriel's friend for centuries. She considered him a trusted companion amongst their highly fighting-skilled kin; one of the best in combating the spiders of the south that had been attacking Mirkwood by the hundreds. The manner in which Firverior stared her down this night, with such displeasure and disdain in his eyes as she had never seen, was a hardship not easily withstood, and Tauriel glanced elsewhere, unable to maintain eye contact.

"On what grounds?" she challenged, her voice quickly losing its edge.

"That's between you and your king," Firverior answered stiffly, jolting Tauriel where her feet were rooted to the soil.

"I serve no king," she whispered in return, her upper lip curling with discontent.

Firverior's eyes flashed with anger and betrayal. "You're an Elf of the Woodland realm, Tauriel. You have a king, and it is to him whom you shall answer."

"As I recall, I was banished by the king. I am no longer an Elf of the Woodland realm."

"Banishment does not erase one's ancestral privilege," Firverior retorted, uncompromising; at last, he lowered his bow, and the eleven guards circling Tauriel did likewise, though they kept their sharp attention on their red-haired captive.

"Why am I being summoned to the king?" Tauriel pressed, raising her hands into the air, befuddled. "I don't understand."

"As I've told you, that's a matter between you and your king." Tauriel intended to say more, but Firverior cut her off. "Come. He's awaiting our return."

With the swirling shimmer of his cloak, which caught the moonlight peaking through the trees, Firverior turned on his heel and stalked off, commanding his fellow guards to do likewise in Elvish. The two who had previously had Tauriel hostage by the arms moved in to reclaim their grasps, but she swiftly waved them off, staring them down as courageously as she was able. They drew backward, hands automatically reaching for their arrows.

"I said I can walk," she hissed between clenched teeth and walked on, finding herself immediately flanked by watchful, mistrustful Elves on all sides.

_What could King Thranduil possibly want with me now...except to, perhaps, do away with me?_

*** * ***

Thranduil had retreated to his private study by mid-day, determined not to be disturbed for the remainder; or, for as long as he could bargain on not being needed on the many matters that required his attention.

Seated at the end of a vast, elaborately carved desk of treasured oak, Thranduil finished penning a correspondence to a friend abroad, whose own written message to the Elven king had carried worrisome rumours; gossip that began in the east, quickly passing through Mirkwood and beyond.

Thranduil sat back in his oversized chair to ponder these angst-filled whispers; poisonous hearsay that would only ravage and corrupt Middle-earth's inhabitants, if they allowed it to consume them.

The supposed coming of a Second Darkness—hell-bent on plunging Middle-earth into Sauron's servitude—wasn't exactly new information. Every faint rumour that spread on the wind was deeper cause for concern, however.

 _Worthless gossip_ , the collected ruler in Thranduil insisted to those who looked to him for council and strength. Inwardly, the rumours troubled him greatly, however, and not simply because the terrible inkling of such a coming had afflicted his soul for many, many moons but because...

_My son is out there._

There was little doubting that Legolas would see fit to join the burdensome, trying battles of Middle-earth that lay ahead. By now, he had surely secured the whereabouts of Aragorn—at Thranduil's suggestion before their parting—and, if what Lord Elrond had once told him in confidence was true, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, would eventually be persuaded to turn from his path of exile and take his rightful place amongst his people.

_Or so we can only hope._

His son would naturally wish to see such a prevail for Men as much as any other Elf in the kingdom, Thranduil included. It wouldn't be in Legolas's good nature to turn his back on those in need of help, either, particularly when the fate of Middle-earth was at stake.

_No... He won't stop until he sees this world's greatest hopes fulfilled._

Thranduil wished the same for Middle-earth, of course, but, unlike the Elven prince, it would not come at the expense of more bloodshed from his kin. No. He had witnessed too much needless death, heinous destruction, and crippling despair to forsake his people's lives one more time. Too many had been slaughtered at the Battle of the Five Armies, and at wars raged before then. The many Elves Thranduil had witnessed fall at the foot of the Lonely Mountain was, for their king, the final straw.

_No more._

If only his son had understood the extraordinary difficulties of kingship, of protecting one's people, and of having so much blood on his hands—and marked on his shattered soul—for the rest of eternity.

_If only..._

Perhaps then Legolas wouldn't have looked upon him as he had the day he left: with disappointment and disdain.

Thranduil was well-aware of how others had misconstrued his image, referring to him as nothing more than \an 'opportunist', 'heartless' and 'self-serving'. It was the price a protective king paid in order to defend what was rightfully his. For Thranduil, that was and always would be Mirkwood and all his faithful kin who dwelled therein. His impassioned wish to keep their way of life secure was of the utmost importance, ever since he had come to rule the Woodland realm thousands of years ago.

It was onerous to try to persuade those who opposed his way of thinking—and manner of ruling—to his position and outlook on Sauron and his endless thirst for power. That outspoken former captain of his and, later, Legolas had proven two of his most strident opponents on such matters. Not in all regards, but in many.

Still, the rationale to not spill anymore immortal blood for the sake of Middle-earth's perilous cause remained Thranduil's unyielding stance, no matter what his son—and others like the forthright Tauriel—opined to the contrary.

 _If only they could understand. If only they'd seen what_ I _'ve seen..._

With a graceful air, Thranduil rose from his chair and roamed about the grand room, decorated in splendid carvings of old and personal trinkets that reminded him of memories past, painful as they may be: a fancy, golden box containing the magnificent white stones Thranduil had gifted to his late wife, later returned to him by the Dwarves; ancient tomes filled with the glorious tales of their people, which he had often read to Legolas as a child, much to the prince's delight; crystal broaches once worn by the brave warriors of his kin, who had fought alongside their king and died defending him. Thranduil kept every fallen Elf's broach as a sore reminder of their great sacrifice: the stripping of their immortal life.

Thranduil halted before the large wooden chest that contained these broaches and carefully opened the lid. The chest was near overflowing with the majestic symbol of Mirkwood—of Elves past slain—and the overwhelming amount wrenched at his heart. They had all been his soldiers once, and that of his father's—every single one—and all that was left of them now was a crystal series of branches.

_So senseless. So reprehensible._

Thranduil cast the lid shut at the loud knocking upon his study door. He commanded whoever it was to enter in Elvish, and one of his head guards normally stationed at the front gates came marching in, looking quite shaken.

"Hîr vuin," greeted the Silvan guard, respectfully bowing his head as Thranduil turned to him, waiting on an explanation for the intrusion, "I've come to report that Firverior and the others have returned."

"And?" Thranduil demanded, waiting patiently.

"They tracked that pack of Orcs as far as the outskirts of Éothéod, but they came upon something else; someone Firverior thought should be brought to your attention at once."

Thranduil quietly stepped closer, his movements slow and steady, arms woven behind his back. "What did he find, Berialagoswen?"

The guard named Berialagoswen's eyes lowered a fraction as he replied, "Tauriel, my Lord."

The king's blue irises flickered and the muscles in his face tightened, as if he were coiling in on himself to keep his self-control in check. His calm demeanour bordered on morphing into action, seemingly torn between maintaining coolness or allowing the rankling ire over the sour subject of his one-time captain to manifest and take charge.

Ultimately, he settled for coolness.

Berialagoswen remained perfectly still, silently awaiting his king's order. Thranduil had ceased inching towards him, his ruby red robes casting a dangerous shimmer against the pearls of starlight pouring into his study.

"Bring her to me," he commanded after a tense-filled silence. "Now."

*** * ***

By the time they reached the front gates of Mirkwood, Tauriel was no longer fazed by the ill reception she was bestowed upon by the two Elves standing guard, Berialagoswen and Lainos, though their shock at encountering her puzzled her greatly.

Odd, she wondered as she breezed past Lainos, who eyed her as though she had lost all Elven attributes. _If the king gave the order to hunt me down, wouldn't everyone have been informed of it?_

"Wait here," Berialagoswen commanded to the lot of them and hastily disappeared to inform King Thranduil of her arrival.

Tauriel sighed, irritated at being so in the dark, but took the quiet opportunity afforded to her to look upon the entrance to the intimate refuge she had once called home.

The ancient oaks were healthy-looking and resplendent still, their vibrant foliage marking the beginning of autumn and flecked with blazing blood-reds and fiery golds unlike any one could find elsewhere in Middle-earth. The well-remembered sight squeezed Tauriel's heart in two.

How deeply she had missed the Mirkwood forest, despite so many foreign glimpses to the outside world provided to her since abruptly leaving home over a year ago. Returning after such an extended absence should have been welcoming and warm, but breathing in the crisp, autumn air tonight filled Tauriel's soul with the deep-rooted yearning she had, for too long, struggled to repress: homesickness. Banishment had bridled her hopes of ever returning, particularly under happy circumstances, and such was the dispirited case this evening.

"Why Éothéod?"

The unanticipated disruption to her thoughts startled Tauriel. She turned to Firverior, who had posed the question. He stood at a distance, along with his comrades, all of whom ogled their former captain with peculiarity.

"I'm sorry?" she breathed, the beat of her heart accelerating.

"Why so close?" he pressed her quietly. "Aren't there other realms you might have found less...painful to take shelter?"

Tauriel forced an impassive raise of her chin. "Yes," she answered him simply, careful to keep any emotion out of her response, "but the reminders would still be...inescapable."

Firverior cocked his head sideways, not following. "'Inescapable'?" he repeated, seeking clarity.

Tauriel offered only a contrived smile. "Grief will follow no matter where one seeks to hide from her."

Slowly, Firverior nodded, understanding finally crossing his fair face. "And Mirkwood?" he inquired after a short pause, to which Tauriel stretched her mannered smile farther.

"It's still home to me, even if I can no longer refer to it as such by name."

"King Thranduil will see you now."

Berialagoswen's sudden return to the entrance brought Tauriel's and Firverior's hushed conversation to a close. Firverior stepped back and lowered his head, giving the matter over to his brethren.

The head guard gave a curt toss of his head and Tauriel was abruptly sided by two guards once more, one of whom pushed her rather forcefully to follow Berialagoswen's lead. Her eyes caught Firverior's as she was coerced onward to meet with the king, but, unfortunately, she discerned neither comfort nor reassurance from her friend's return stare, which was grim at best. She swallowed hard and tread the narrow, winding pathway that led to King Thranduil's study, refusing to look back. The enormous, hefty oak doors opened as they approached, with two more guards flanking its entrance.

As she stepped inside the towering space, Tauriel found herself suddenly face to face with her king, who was seated in a wooden chair off to the right. The moonlight trickling into the study cast fragments of sharp light against his otherwise tall, darkened figure, the scenery at his back a dramatic view of the wondrous night sky, just visible between Mirkwood's high trees. Upon his head Thranduil donned his ornately decorative crown of thorns and berries in annual homage to the harvest season; but, there was nothing warm in his hardened face that Tauriel recognised. His stare was cold and unfriendly, his rigid body language, despite being seated, serving his reputation as the intimidating Elven ruler Tauriel well remembered.

In all her six hundred years of life and service, Tauriel had rarely been afraid of her king, only uneasy at times that Thranduil invoked his wrath, speaking in such an eerily quiet fashion that even his son would grow nervous and uncertain of his intentions. For the first time on this chilly evening, however, she was truly frightened. Her inclination immediately was to bow, despite the fact that she no longer served him, so she hurriedly lowered her head, shifting her eyes from such intense eye contact.

For an excruciating moment that seemed to last for an age, Thranduil said nothing in return, merely made a calculated study of her person with his eyes. Tauriel could hear her breath stiffen and the hastening beat of her heart against her chest; she tried to keep still.

"Hîr vuin," she addressed him softly, respectfully, with a certain ache in her voice.

"Tauriel," Thranduil, at last, greeted her, though without any hint of affection. "What a surprise this is."

Cautiously, Tauriel raised her head, increasingly perplexed by the strange events that had brought her here. "Is it?" she inquired hesitantly, narrowing her eyes up at him. "Did you not send your guards after me tonight?"

"After you?" Thranduil's response was indifferent. "Of course not. Don't be absurd. I banished you from this realm many moons ago. Why would I seek to hunt you down now?"

"I don't know. You tell me, my Lord," she added, wishing to get to the bottom of this confusion but without spurring Thranduil to anger.

Alas, an ominous upward curl materialised at the corner of Thranduil's mouth that didn't put Tauriel at ease. His eyes then darted to Berialagoswen and the two guards still holding her firmly by the arms.

"Leave us," he demanded of their company, and Tauriel heard their footsteps retreat, the heavy doors soon closing her in with an overwhelming-sounding echo. Her heart pounded faster still, her agitation increasing now that she and Thranduil were completely alone.

Thranduil wasted little time continuing to study her at a distance. He rose agilely from his chair and approached the disloyal She-Elf as a fierce lion stalks its prey: deliberately, wilfully, eyes rooted to the catch.

Tauriel was quickly engulfed in the king's shadow, unhinged by the near empty void she discovered in those radiant blue eyes. It caused her to shrink in his presence, though only just.

"Do you have a death wish, Tauriel?"

Tauriel reared back, perturbed by such an odd question. "My Lord?"

"A pack of Orcs were spotted to the north not four days past. They weren't far from where you reportedly made camp. Dare I ask, were you waiting for them to happen upon your tent and take you out?"

"I..."

" _Do speak up_ ," Thranduil hissed with such aggression that Tauriel started. "As I recall, you had no trouble speaking your mind to me in the past."

Tauriel blushed but managed to find her voice. "No, I wasn't waiting to be found, my Lord."

" _Really_?"

His voice dripped with mockery, making Tauriel fluster. "I don't know why you'd insinuate that I'd do such a thing, my Lord, but, I can assure you—"

"That you've become so consumed by your own grief that you would willingly put your life at stake, just to be rid of it?" Thranduil sought to challenge her, staring Tauriel down heatedly, though he never raised his voice. "Yes, I _would_ insinuate such a disappointing action possible on your part, Tauriel. Am I wrong to believe that you still grieve the loss of that...Dwarf?"

Tauriel could feel her cheeks burning with indignation, a mixture of rage and humiliation now marring her pretty features. The way her king spoke so distastefully of Kíli, without referring to him by name or with a shred of thoughtful consideration, gutted her. She hadn't an inkling where such a fiery, false accusation of attempted self-destruction was coming from, either—perhaps she had become the subject of ridicule by Thranduil and her people in her absence—but she was determined to set the king straight, if he would allow her.

"My Lord," she insisted, struggling to keep calm, "I've had no intention of hurting myself these past many months."

The harshness in Thranduil's face did not waver, however. "I'm not convinced," came his terse reply.

"I honestly had no idea Orcs were that close—"

" _Then, for goodness's sake, Tauriel, be sensible_!" His uncharacteristic outburst took her aback, enough to cause her knees to wobble. "I took you to be perceptive and wise once. Do not force me to lament yet another wrong."

The intensity between them abruptly stilled and Thranduil quickly turned away from her, his refined robes thrashing and waving about with furious flair. He sought refuge in his chair again, half of his pale face submerging into the shadows.

Tauriel looked on, unsettled, yet unable to glance away. "I... I do apologise, my Lord," she found herself softly begging his pardon. "I hadn't given much thought to running into Orcs in those parts. I will be more mindful in the future."

Thranduil did not respond. He simply stared at Tauriel long and hard, unmoving, compelling her to try to fill the uncomfortable silence.

"I still don't understand _why_ I've been brought here."

Slowly, Thranduil answered, "I never gave the order to retrieve you." At Tauriel's visual befuddlement, he continued, "I sent Firverior and a handful of our guards out to hunt down the whereabouts of these Orcs. He happened upon your camp and was right to take you under his charge and bring you here for safekeeping. You could have been killed out there, Tauriel. Have you lost all sense of reason?"

The gnawing vexation in the Elven king had returned, but Tauriel took a deep breath and centred her emotions. "I told you, I didn't know—"

"A lazy excuse for incompetence."

Before Tauriel could fire back a retort, Thranduil was on his feet once more, the cutting lights and shadows outlining his face urging her back a step. He hadn't advanced on her, and yet, his slightly hunched forward stance suggested that he might very well do so.

"You shall remain here."

"What?" Tauriel's green eyes widened in shock. "But, I—"

"At least until these Orcs have been hunted down and dealt with. You cannot be trusted to linger on your own."

"But, my Lord, I've been banished from these woods. You said so yourself..."

Tauriel hated how simpleminded her remark sounded, and yet, it _was_ the plain truth. Why would King Thranduil suddenly show a change of heart and express his concern—albeit, marginally—for her welfare when she was, to him, a traitor to the realm? It hadn't been all that long ago that she had pointed an arrow at his face and threatened to kill him, after all.

_Now he wants me to...stay?_

Much to Tauriel's bafflement, Thranduil called in Elvish to the guards outside the door to return, waiting on them to reemerge before he stalked up to her, his bright eyes boring vigorously into hers. Tauriel's breath stilled, her wary gaze locked on his.

"Consider your exile lifted," he told her; he then brushed past Tauriel to order the guards to escort her to a bedchamber, but she wasn't really taking in anything but the king's shocking pardon. He turned around to face her bewildered countenance one last time, and, when their eyes met, he added a smug, "For now," to his withdrawal before he took his leave.

Tauriel watched in stunned silence as Thranduil glided away, his flowing, golden hair barely moving against his back and his silhouette made more impressive by the outline of his extravagant crown. Even from behind, he appeared as ominous as ever, and yet...

_I'm no longer banished?_

The two guards didn't try to manhandle Tauriel this time as they led their one-time captain away without a word. Even had they displayed less tact, Tauriel wouldn't have been able to focus much on their mistreatment, though, for she was too dumbfounded to find herself back in Mirkwood, her banishment unexpectedly revoked, and two of her kin leading her to a bedroom where she would surely receive a large, warm bed to crawl into.

_Perhaps this isn't the end, after all..._


	3. Amin uuma merna ta (I don't want it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A friendly reminder that you can read the most updated version of this story on FFN. (Chapter 5 was just posted last night).**
> 
> **Disclaimer : _The Hobbit_ and _The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

_"If this is love I do not want it. Take it from me... Please..."_

_Those words had been so haunting, so exquisitely painful, even now._

_The harrowing sadness of which her eyes spoke was enough to bring the Elven king to his knees. He stepped forward, barely able to contain his own sorrow. How he longed to reach out and tell her then that he understood her loss; that he was well-abreast of such pain and suffering; that he had mastered woe and anguish long, long ago; that the enormity of it would pass, but it wouldn't be gone entirely._

_'No, it's still too raw for her... As it is for me...'_

_So many of his great warriors had been lost today. Legolas, too, had abandoned him, probably never to return. His son had survived, only to leave. The disgruntlement on the prince's face as he turned from Thranduil that day was enough to destroy him._

_Now, the distressful tears Tauriel shed visibly conveyed all that stirred within Thranduil's wounded heart. They echoed his immense heartache and grief; a wretched pain he couldn't disclose or share with others. Not with Tauriel._

_'Not with anyone...'_

_"Why does it hurt so much?" she suddenly choked out, bowing her head low over the Dwarf's lifeless form, tears falling freely._

_In that delicate moment, Thranduil thought of one small grain of truth he hoped might comfort Tauriel in her moment of intense mourning, though it had done little to comfort him: "Because it was real."_

_Tauriel raised her head to stare into the king's eyes. Something akin to, perhaps, hope was surfacing and fighting the sorrow, but Thranduil couldn't remain. He needed to get as far away from her—from everyone—as possible for a brief, quiet moment alone. The emotions churning inside him were threatening to overpower him at any moment, and, thus, Thranduil hurried away from the depressing scene, turning his back on a kneeling, heartbroken Tauriel, who watched her king's silent retreat, his waltz dreary and withdrawn._

_Slowly, her eyes drew back to Kíli—so peaceful in death—and she wept all over again, unable to let go of his motionless hand._

Had he been wrong to say what he had that day? Had she thought him cruel and uncaring when, in fact, he had been trying to offer her comfort?

_Does any of it matter?_

Thranduil rested his arms against the stone barrier of his balcony, letting the brisk wind whip at his garments and cool his skin, prompting a shiver down his spine that rippled about him like a snake shedding its skin. He inhaled deeply and stared out into the plentiful woodlands that lay beyond his quarters, and at the glimpses of starlight he could discern through the dense trees and impenetrable stone barriers.

The sudden urge to walk and wander was desirable, but Thranduil forced himself to turn away from the light and return to the shadows of his room. Too many nights he had wasted roaming his underground kingdom, awake for hours and exhausting the night with his troublesome thoughts. He needed sleep.

He needed to forget.

*** * ***

Tauriel's eyelids fluttered awake to greet the faint sunlight penetrating the open window a few feet from her bed, its delicate rays floating into the room and streaming across her sheets. Eventually, she rolled onto her back and raised herself up onto her elbows, squinting at her unrecognisable surroundings.

Last night had been the most restful sleep she had received in what felt like a millennium. It wasn't peaceful, but it was still and undisturbed for a change. It had been too long since she hadn't awoken in the middle of the night (at least once or twice), recalling either Kíli's horrific death, the sickening eyesores of battle before the foot of the Lonely Mountain, where her kin, Dwarves, Men, Women and Children alike fell in massive numbers, or Legolas's mysterious leave without so much as a parting farewell.

 _Yes. That rest was much needed_ , she concluded, taking an appreciative moment to stretch and allow the fragments of sunlight to pour over her wherever their rays touched. She closed her eyes and inhaled several slow, even breaths before finally facing the morning—or whatever time of day it was—by climbing out of bed.

Tauriel was almost immediately driven from her private thoughts by the surprising sight of fresh garments hanging loosely over a wooden chair close to her bed. Apparently, they had been delivered sometime during the night—or in the early morning—whilst she had slept. She reached out a hand to hesitantly inspect the material: robes of soft green and silver, threaded from the finest silk, and with an underlining pale green blouse and plush shoes that ran to the knees.

Tauriel stroked her fingers over the magnificently smooth fabric, eyes blinking rapidly at the added discovery of an accompanying note. On the front, it spelled only her name in black ink. She took the note into her possession and opened it, murmuring its message aloud:

_"'Please accept these robes as a token of the king's redeemed confidence.'"_

Tauriel frowned and reread the note a couple more times. A gift from the king? A memento intended to eradicate the hard-hitting fact that he had previously banished her?

 _I hardly think clothing can erase the rift between us_ , Tauriel scoffed dismissively as she tossed the message aside. _'Redeemed confidence'. As if I require his confidence! And what a rotten method of apologising!_

With reluctance, she peered down at the note again, scrutinising it from where it now lay half-crumbled at her feet. _Is it meant to be an apology at all?_

Tauriel quickly shook her head, wishing to keep the niggling unrest in her mind at bay. Regardless of whatever convoluted action lay behind King Thranduil's message, it was a genteel gesture, after all; she would readily give him that. After living in such dishonourable conditions—well, deplorable for a Silvan Elf, anyway—she was rather easily swayed into ridding herself of the only somewhat smelly, stained garments she possessed.

Having been too exhausted the previous night to bathe before bed, Tauriel retreated to the room's adjoining bathroom in haste, wishing to cleanse herself before making an appearance. Her bright eyes widened at the grand scope of the space she walked in on, for it was larger and far more extravagant than her own had ever been.

Mirkwood's main river flowed through these showers, streaming without pause from the high waterfall that resided just beyond the front gates. Within its underground enclosures, however, and with the aid of Elvish magic, bath waters remained permanently warm, never frigid or so much as lukewarm.

_Finally! A proper bath!_

Tauriel eagerly disrobed what she had been too tired to slip out of the night before (mainly her loose breeches and blouse which were normally covered by her heavier set of robes), and stepped into the hot bath. Her toes instantly curled with delight at the smooth, pebbled stones imbedded in the ground beneath her feet, her fond memories recalling how much she used to enjoy extended, evening baths...

_Before I was banished._

Determined not to sour the moment with thoughts of the past, and issuing a gratifying sigh, Tauriel settled herself in the enlarged bath and sunk her head back against its stone enclosure, eyes closing. It was probably the most divine bath she had ever taken. How on earth did Men and Women bathe in such terribly cold conditions as she had been forced to for the past year? No. She wouldn't think on it. The healing powers of the river waters were working their awe and brilliance, refreshing and renewing her physically and spiritually in ways the species of Men—and Dwarves—could never comprehend.

_Wonderful..._

Tauriel lingered in the hot water for so long that it wasn't until an unexpected visitor came knocking at her door around noon that she finally emerged from her watery cave. It was Firverior, who had come to check on Tauriel and ensure that she was all right and settling in. She scrambled to make herself presentable before permitting him into her chambers, freshly dressed in the ensemble King Thranduil had given her.

"You're looking revived," her friend noted with raised eyebrows, an encouraging smile materialising on his lips.

"I _am_ feeling rather more myself this morning. Please, sit! It's been so long!"

"Indeed it has," Firverior concurred pleasantly enough; he took a seat in the wooden chair as gestured by Tauriel, whilst she perched herself on the edge of her made bed. "You've been on my mind, Tauriel. I'm so relieved to see you're safe and unharmed."

"Thanks to _you_ ," she pointed out, taking the opportunity to squeeze the Elf's hand in gratitude. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I appreciate you bringing me back here, Firverior."

Firverior's brow furrowed questioningly. "Really?" he put to her, sounding both relieved and taken aback.

Tauriel slightly lowered her head, her voice turning grim. "One forgets the simple luxuries of sleeping in a firm bed at night or having warm baths to take when they're reduced to...well, what my conditions have been these past many months."

"I wonder..." Firverior started and paused, peering at his former captain with sudden apprehension. "Have you really wanted to come back all this time?"

"I confess, for a while, I wasn't sure I wanted to; but, I realised shortly after I left that not having a home... Not being amongst my kin... Not being _wanted_... It was all more trying on my soul than I expected it to be."

"I'm sure it was," her friend agreed, quietly surveying her for a thoughtful pause. "Is it true that you...fell in love?"

Tauriel's eyes sharpened as they met his, though they softened as she sought to compose herself before answering, "Yes, I did."

"With a...Dwarf?"

Disgruntled by the overt judgement she detected in Firverior's disbelieving inquiry, Tauriel remained still, emerald eyes cooling the longer they bore into her friend's. "His name was Kíli, and, _yes_ , he was a Dwarf. A very brave one, I might add."

Firverior quickly bowed his head to momentarily avoid eye contact, his cheeks radiating more colour than usual. "I'm sure he was," he tried to offer considerately, once he was certain Tauriel wasn't going to reach across the gap between them and smack him upside the head. "My condolences for your loss and grief, Tauriel."

"Thank you," she managed rather breathlessly, trying not to tear up on the spot; she was grateful when Firverior changed the topic.

"Will you stay now that your banishment has been lifted?"

Tauriel shrugged. "I'm not certain. I can hardly expect the king will _want_ me to stay."

Firverior shot the proud She-Elf a confused frown. "But, if he revoked your banishment, then surely he _will_ wish that?"

"He said my banishment was lifted for the time being."

"'For the time being'?"

"Until the Orcs are found, at least. Beyond that, he wouldn't say."

"Well, we could really use you at the head again, Tauriel," Firverior pressed in all seriousness. "More spiders are fortifying their nests outside our walls. I fear we may be overrun soon without outside aid."

"Can't the king simply send out more of you at a time to combat them?"

"Since the end of the battle at the Misty Mountain, King Thranduil has ordered the majority of us to remain within these walls at all times. No one's to venture into the forest alone anymore, and we're prohibited from ever leaving at night."

"It's grown _that_ bad?" Tauriel asked, eyes widening in concern.

Firverior returned her question with an earnest nod. "We slaughtered more than two-dozen while en route to Éothéod. If you decide to stay, I dare say you'll see for yourself how badly the forest has been overrun by those foul beasts."

Tauriel straightened and shook her head, dismayed. "Should I remain, I doubt the king would reinstate me as Captain of the Guard, Firverior."

"Why not?" her friend challenged, to which Tauriel scrutinised him at length before replying.

"Because I disobeyed his order that I return to Mirkwood, Firverior, and then I challenged him on the battlefield before our own legions; our people."

Firverior's brief recoil spoke as much of his awareness on _that_ supposedly controversial subject. It was difficult to discern whether he approved or disapproved of her actions, however, until he spoke in a softer tone.

"That was unwise of you, Tauriel."

"I was no longer his captain," Tauriel retorted defensively. "I was free to make my own choices then, and I wasn't about to allow him to flee and abandon all those who were in so desperate need of our help! Not if I could prevent him from doing so!"

"So you thought that by defying the king—a great Elf thousands of years older than you, and far more skilled and trained in the practice of combat—and by pointing an arrow at his person, that that would stop him in his tracks?"

Tauriel flushed, initially unable to form a coherent thought. "Well, I...! Well, when you put it like _that_..." she finally grumbled irritably, prompting Firverior to chance a smirk.

"You're daring, Tauriel; of _that_ I'm certain."

This time, Tauriel's blush was far less indignant. "Daring enough to defy the king when he's very much in the wrong?"

Firverior's humoured smile slipped. "Tauriel..."

"If King Thranduil refuses to change from this unhealthy path of locking himself—and us—away, thinking that that will somehow keep us from experiencing the rest of the world's ruin, we'll be as doomed as the poor, innocent souls living beyond our borders. When the world succumbs to darkness, so shall we."

"We don't know that—"

"Yes, you _do_ , Firverior," Tauriel urged her friend, speaking now with fervour. "Surely, you _must_."

After resettling himself in his chair, Firverior reluctantly cleared his throat and eyed Tauriel more critically. "King Thranduil has never led us astray. I wish you'd exercise more faith in him, Tauriel."

"This isn't about lack of faith, Firverior; it's about lack of _reason_!"

"You best watch that sharp tongue of yours in his presence, do you hear me?"

"Or what," Tauriel huffed and scooted forward, "I'll be banished from the realm a second time?" Firverior's face deflated, leaving Tauriel thinking she held the upper hand. "You forget, mellon nîn, I've been down the path of exile before, and I wouldn't hesitate to walk it again if it meant being able to speak my truth."

"Tauriel, _please_ , I implore you, don't incur the king's wrath. Not again."

Tauriel's eyes narrowed considerably, however. "If I'm the only one willing to challenge his decisions which affect us all then I must be permitted to do what my conscience deems to be right."

Firverior issued a defeated sigh and rose to his feet, peering down at the fiery She-Elf still seated on her bed with growing despondence. "Then, at the very least, exercise caution, won't you?" he pleaded quietly. "The king is not himself."

Tauriel reared back, startled by those words. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that he's not been himself. Not since..."

"Yes?"

Firverior's expression tightened. "Since his son left."

*** * ***

_"Ada, can we name her?"_

_"Of course, ionneg," replied Thranduil affectionately, a gentle smile tugging at his lips; he reached out to lightly rub his hand over the elk's large snout and the magnificent beast gave a throaty appreciation. "What would you like to call her?"_

_A young Legolas, crouched atop the broad elk's back, pondered this decision for some time, his dainty features scrunched together in concentration. At last, his blue eyes lit up with a possibility._

_"Melda!" he exclaimed._

_Thranduil eyed the enthusiastic prince curiously, considerately. "And why Melda?"_

_"Because we love her, Ada! And she's strong!"_

_Legolas draped himself effortlessly across the elk's spine and proceeded to stroke its side. Its head tilted towards the weightless young Elf, its enormous antlers swaying beneath the tall trees and catching warm rays of light._ *****

 _"Indeed," Thranduil conceded as he thoughtfully appraised the new familiar, "she_ is _strong." He bowed his head of golden hair respectfully. "Melda it is. She shall be our new deliverer; our new companion when treading these woods."_

_"She's so gentle, Ada, and less grumpy than Tawarthion."_

_"Yes, she is, isn't she?" Thranduil watched his son, amused as the prince appeared to be falling asleep, for his eyes had closed and his petting slowed. "And she'll continue to be as long as we treat her well, yes?"_

_"Yes, Ada."_

_"And why must we treat all creatures of the Woodland realm with respect?"_

_"Because they're family," Legolas replied through a stifled yawn, sounding as though he had been asked to repeat such an answer many times before. "Because the forest and everything in it is a part of our family."_

_"That's right, ionneg."_

_Legolas's breathing deepened, his arm falling loose at his side. Thranduil reached out to carefully grasp the Elf's little hand in his, and Legolas didn't stir._

_Thranduil stared the elk sternly in the eyes. There appeared to be an unwritten understanding between creature and Elf; some unspoken language that allowed the two to communicate._

_"Lead us home, Melda," he instructed in Elvish, and the elk gave a soft, low moan._

_Melda began the march back to the gates of Mirkwood, little Legolas sleeping aboard her whilst the king strolled along on foot, the company of three moving together in perfect harmony._

A sudden flutter of movement coming from the corner of his eye brought Thranduil's attention back into focus. He casually turned his head, aware that, despite appearances, he was no longer alone with his thoughts.

"I know you're there," he whispered without fear or concern, fierce blue eyes waiting patiently for something—some _one_ —to materialise. "Why do you insist on hiding from me?"

A short pause later, "Forgive me, my Lord, I... I didn't wish to disturb you."

A sheepish Tauriel emerged from behind a stone pillar, looking both apologetic and more radiant than she had appeared yesterday upon her arrival. She had clearly bathed and was well-rested, at least. The soft-palette robes he had had sent to her room were fitting and attractive against her flowing, intricately braided red hair, and there was a healthy glow to her complexion that had been virtually non-existent when he had last seen her.

Tauriel's gaze shifted uncomfortably, however, at having come into contact with the Elven king in the midst of a quiet mediation, and she seemed uncertain as to where to rest her eyes.

Thranduil stared at his former captain a long moment, his composed expression untelling. Then he resumed his attention elsewhere, staring, instead, straight ahead at a gleaming sort of monument with apparent Elvish names etched elegantly into the carved rock. He had been taking in its pleasant recollections for some time now, until his memories were sorely interrupted.

_By her._

"I shall go, my Lord," Tauriel suddenly piped up, her voice nearly too soft to be heard.

Thranduil directed his gaze towards the retreating She-Elf again, and his response was commanding when he uttered, "What's your hurry?"

Tauriel halted in her tracks and hesitantly turned around, that same confusion from yesterday marking her brow. "I was merely strolling the grounds, my Lord. I didn't expect to run into you here..."

Thranduil's bright eyes hardened. "And that was cause for you to run from my presence?"

"No," stuttered Tauriel, finding herself flustered by what felt like an interrogation, "you just looked...preoccupied. I didn't wish to disturb you."

"That's because I _was_ preoccupied."

"Well, then, please, by all means, don't let me cause you trouble," came Tauriel's agitated reply; she stepped back several paces. "I'll just be on my way."

She quickly made to leave, not desiring to cause a fuss, but the king's next words stopped her in her tracks again. "Is it always that way with you these days?"

Tauriel whipped her head around, affronted by the question, though she didn't understand what exactly King Thranduil's disgruntlement was with her being here. Having unintentionally intruded on his privacy, she had tried to respectfully bow out, but it would seem the king wanted to goad her into an argument; or, perhaps, simply make her uneasy.

Unfortunately, he wasn't looking at her, either. Instead, Thranduil was studying the elk monument before his eyes in detail, his strong profile reflective and uncommunicative. The commemorative shrine had long ago been erected in memory of the royal family's many familiars that had passed away over the Ages, its broad carving extending well beyond the king's seated position on a stone bench.

After what felt like an eternity, Thranduil finally turned his head, and his and Tauriel's eyes met once more, their exchange intense, and yet, to Tauriel, unclear.

"Fight and flight response, is it?" he pressed; it wasn't asked with malicious intent, but there evidently wasn't any hint of kindness, either.

"I... I don't like to think so," Tauriel tried to respond tactfully, "no, my Lord."

Thranduil pursed her lips together, the silence that ensued bordering on uncomfortable, with Tauriel uncertain as to whether or not she should try to make another exit. Thus, she waited to be addressed, hands fidgeting awkwardly behind her back.

Finally, Thranduil rose and advanced towards on her, his progression graceful, yet calculated. His expression, too, was considerate this time and less critical, though Tauriel still had the strong urge to make an escape.

"Did you sleep well?" he inquired once they were finally standing before one another.

"Yes, I did, my Lord." She bowed her head slightly. "Thank you."

"And have you eaten?"

"Yes, I have."

Thranduil nodded, eyes thoughtfully appraising her, though she couldn't tell what he was thinking. "Do you require anything else at the moment? Anything you'd like brought to your room?"

Although taken aback by this unassuming gesture of hospitality by her king, Tauriel respectfully shook her head. "No, my Lord, but thank you." Her cheeks reddened a little as she peered down at her aesthetically-pleasing ensemble; her new robes was proving not only immensely comfortable but were of a richer and finer thread than she was accustomed to wearing. "And for the robes," she added in appreciation, feeling uneasy. "They're...quite beautiful."

"Do they please you?"

Tauriel angled her head. "Yes, my Lord; very much."

"Then you're welcome," he offered without feeling.

Thranduil gradually backed away from her, his sharp gaze rooting an ill-footed Tauriel to the spot, even as he fluidly turned his back.

Utterly bewildered by the strangeness of their brief interaction, Tauriel started to step forward with the intent to say something else, but the Elven king spoke faster. "I expect we shall meet again soon."

Tauriel's eyebrows came together in perplexity. _Of course_ they would come in contact again. The king had revoked her banishment, after all, and he wasn't prone to locking himself away from his people, so, surely, their paths _would_ cross again, and often. What was his underlying motive for this circle and dance number he was playing with her?

"Yes, my Lord," was all Tauriel found she could say in return without being snide.

With his back still turned and his silver robes billowing further and further away from her, Thranduil extended only one additional remark before he disappeared entirely. "I have questions for you that will need answering."

 _Questions?_ Tauriel wondered peculiarly. _To do with my disloyal actions on the battlefield, perhaps?_

Tauriel remained imprudently frozen in the middle of the narrow walkway long after King Thranduil had gone. The illumination stemming from the many lanterns that hung from the stone pillars intended to resemble wood had lowered upon the king's exit, making her surroundings more of a challenge to see.

Slowly, Tauriel forced her legs to move. She inched closer to the elk memorial to her right and eyed it over with thought and care. She could understand why King Thranduil might seek solace at such an isolated spot. It was well-known that he adored the many elks that had come into his service over the Ages; perhaps he had simply sought refuge here to reminisce over their individual passings.

Tauriel could recall the unique names and appearances of the varying beasts her king and Legolas, too, had ridden throughout her time in Mirkwood. As her eyes scanned the Elvish names attractively carved into the pale stone, she let out a faint moan at a new name etched near the bottom of the shrine. She tentatively crouched down and reached out a hand to trace over the precious name of Ithilwen, her chest constricting as her senses were suddenly flooded with what she could only presume might match the king's own heartbreak.

_Oh, Ithilwen..._

King Thranduil had ridden Ithilwen to the Lonely Mountain, the elk prepared to lay down its life for the king in the fight against the Dwarves and, later, the Orcs. She must have fallen sometime during the battle, though Tauriel hadn't witnessed the poor elk's demise. She could only pray it might have occurred after she confronted him.

_Why? Why should you feel remorse, Tauriel? He was wrong. You know it still._

_Yes, I do..._

_So, why the sudden pang of guilt?_

Tauriel stiffened, her fingers halting upon the outline of the fallen elk's name. Eventually, she drew upright and turned her back on the majestic monument, aiming to make her way back towards the general direction of her bedchambers. She suspected she wouldn't run into King Thranduil on the way.

 _This isn't about guilt_ , her conscience argued; she felt more like herself again the closer she came to what had been the start of her aimless walk that afternoon. _This is about what's right and wrong. The loss of Ithilwen... The loss of Legolas... No. Be that as it may, the king has wrongs that need righting!_

_Or have you so quickly forgotten King Thranduil's cold heart?_

Tauriel raised her chin defiantly as the guard stationed outside her bedroom nodded to her with respect, greeting her return. She stepped inside and gestured for him to close the door behind her without a word.

 _The king wants to question me? Well, I have a few questions to pose to_ him _as well._

*** Although female elks don't have antlers, considering Peter Jackson's depiction of them in _The Hobbit_ isn't realistic, I'm not going for realism, either.**


	4. Lle rangwa amin? (Do you understand me?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N : To be honest, I don't really see the point in updating this fic here anymore (hence, why updates have been scarce). It's garnered very little feedback from anyone reading it here anyhow, so, unless that would miraculously change, this will likely be the last update. **
> 
> **If you're still interested in reading more of this story, then I'd suggest heading over to FFN...**

Tauriel's first few days back home proved restless and uneventful. The spirited Elleth found herself increasingly questioning whether she should stick around or be on her not-so-merry way. (Not that she desired to return to the former misery that had been relentless isolation, but, if there was one thing Tauriel couldn't bear, it was being made to feel utterly useless.) She craved to be of service to her fellow kin in _some_ capacity again—at least, to the guards, many of whom had been her dear friends once, though they now mostly went about ignoring her existence.

_Except for Firverior..._

She was grateful to have still found one friend in him amongst her kind. Even if she would never again be permitted to become their captain, and she certainly wasn't holding out much hope of that happening, Tauriel would have liked to serve the kingdom that was still her home.

Every glimpse of her friends' comings and goings from the front gates twisted the dagger a little deeper in her heart. Tauriel suspected those who left at daybreak would be searching the forests until nightfall, attempting to kill as many spiders as possible, those gruesome creatures who had long ago began poisoning and sickening so much of their precious woodlands that the outskirts of Mirkwood was an unrecognisable wilderness today.

The pervasive invasion of the spiders was all the more imperative to Tauriel to make herself useful by, perhaps, helping to put a stop to the very beasts who regularly assaulted their lands. She wrestled with the idea for days, growing evermore agitated by the hour. Whilst she twiddled her thumbs and sought to occupy her time, her kin were out there fighting for the continuation of their very existence.

_You could always run this proposal by the king, you know..._

Tauriel rolled her eyes each time that unnerving thought entered her mind.

For the time being, she would simply resume her mindless stroll of the kingdom, unsure of where she belonged or how she might fit in. She wasn't even sure where she found herself wandering off to most of the time, but that hardly concerned her. Her dull days had been much the same since her arrival: aimless strolls through long, torch-lit corridors and winding staircases, their point unfulfilling and leaving the quiet yearn in her heart to fester and deepen.

With a frustrated huff, Tauriel tore off in the opposite direction from whence she had come. This wasn't healthy or productive. Having too much time on her hands to think, to reflect...

_To remember Kíli..._

Well, it wasn't beneficial.

Tauriel's determined march slowed to a walk. For days, she had managed to keep the grief from swallowing her whole. In fact, her reeling thoughts of late had been drawn elsewhere—to someone else instead—and, so, Tauriel had welcomed the change. After all, pondering and dissecting King Thranduil's behaviour seemed a more constructive alternative to staying in bed and sobbing repeatedly into her pillow.

It was comforting, in fact, just to have something else to focus her attention on, so Tauriel pursued the sensitive subject of her king readily. She hadn't happened upon him again since their strange encounter before the elks' monument some five days prior, and, having expected to be called upon at some point since, Tauriel was quite surprised that no invitation from the king had come her way.

What was he waiting for? Was King Thranduil expecting Tauriel to simply go about the rest of her days in Mirkwood playing the part of the invaluable, invisible demoted captain? To have her person be forever marked amongst their people as a traitor to the realm?

 _I should hope not_ , Tauriel considered apprehensively, a slight frown materialising on her face.

Tauriel had been in Mirkwood for nearly a week with no invitation from the king and no orders given for how to spend her time. Sure, that span didn't constitute for as much as a blink in the daily life of an Elf, but, unlike most patient, even-tempered Elves, Tauriel was losing her patience, and quickly, too. She hadn't expected her circumstances to change overnight, of course, but she _had_ expected to have had an audience with her king by now, at the very least. Too many long hours spent processing her grief and worthlessness wasn't exactly more gratifying than the year of banishment she had been forced into.

Tauriel's pace increased again, the fire in her step pushing her onward—against her sorrow, against her anguish. Something has to give, and soon!

*** * ***

_Mid-day_ , Thranduil thought, squinting his eyes as he peered out at his empty balcony. A gentle autumn breeze drifted through his bedchambers, fingering through his hair and lazily gracing his exposed neck. _Must. Get. Up._

Issuing a small, protesting groan, Thranduil lifted himself out of bed—pale and naked and uncharacteristically dishevelled—and stepped into his dressing room, eyelids half closed and protesting the soft light that greeted him.

If he wasn't the ruddy King of Mirkwood, he would have gladly returned to bed for the remainder of the afternoon; for the rest of the day, in fact. Perhaps he could spend that free time rereading the tale of the coming of the dragons of the north— _One of Legolas's favourites..._ —or taken his time in answering the handful of correspondences that remained unopened and unread on top his dresser, collecting dust and debris.

_Or you could simply skip all that rubbish and drink your cares away..._

That was always the most agreeable late-night option, but it would have to wait, unfortunately. There had been more than a dozen unwanted disruptions to Thranduil's solitude since the sun began to rise early that morning. If he didn't turn up amongst his people, and soon, he might very well see a few of his most trusted kinsmen breaking down his door, wrongfully believing something dreadful had become of their king.

_That wouldn't be so unwanted, would it? Certainly not by me._

Thranduil shook off that inconvenient thought long enough to dress himself appropriately, stepping into finely cut, forest green robes trimmed in ivory and silver. Upon his head he chose for the day a thin but intricate, matching silver crown.

Without passing a second glance over his reflection in a mirror, Thranduil reluctantly exited the sanctuary of his bedchambers to join those who were demanding his council. The same two guards from the night before were still stationed outside his room and, at once, were relieved of their duties to go rest. Thranduil had little doubt they had both been passing along his stern wish not to be disturbed to more individuals than he cared to estimate.

"The king is not seeing anyone at this time," he had heard them inform several of those who had pressed their requests for an audience.

"But, it's urgent!" many had insisted; thankfully, the king's guards didn't budge, and Thranduil was able to retreat further into his mound of comfortable pillows without a grumbling word.

Thranduil was now only a short distance from his quarters when a bombardment of Elves suddenly swarmed in upon him. Each had been awaiting the king's presence to relay their grievances and concerns for hours, and yet, Thranduil glided by them without giving pause for reaction, waving them forward with his hand in the air and beckoning the crowd to follow his lead.

 _If only I could be left permanently alone_ , he bemoaned his permanent circumstance in silence; he would remind himself, of course, as he always did, that hiding from his responsibilities was futile. _Whether you wish it or not, you're a king, Thranduil. For goodness's sake, act like one._

Whatever personal hardships came his way—and there had been many gut-wrenching blows Thranduil couldn't bring himself to speak on—life in Mirkwood went on in its usual quiet fashion, and the Elven king would endure whatever political, financial, or societal strife came about that called for his attention, in addition to his own difficulties, without a gripe or a complaint issued aloud. To anyone.

Thranduil's subsequent heavy sigh shuddered through his body like a smouldering fire. The series of soft footsteps trailing behind him, each individual undoubtedly wishing to speak before the other, made his want to merge with the stone beneath his feet and disappear an unrealistic conclusion.

Alas, he pressed on, leading the way to his council room where he would receive their dreadful opines one by one, his hard expression conveying his lack of enthusiasm for their company _or_ to provide the listening ear his people desired of him.

Thranduil was met at the large oak doors by his long-time secretary, Lathron, an ancient Elf who had been by the king's side through many trials, as far back as the Second Age when he had first become king in his father's stead. In his hands, Lathron carried a quill and an empty scroll for taking notes on Thranduil's behalf. He didn't look at all displeased or even concerned by the king's tardiness, though his beady eyes might have suggested otherwise.

Together, Thranduil and his secretary stalked into the council room, Lathron informing the king's flock as to where they should sit. An enormous, rectangular-shaped table filled much of the space, with Thranduil taking the high chair at the far end. It was evident to all who were present that the king was rather displeased with this impromptu meeting of theirs, but his body language also suggested exceptional patience, like always.

After everyone was properly seated, Lathron joined the king at his side, and Thranduil, now cradling his chin in his palm, made a curt wave of his opposite hand, bringing the meeting to order.

"Hîr vuin," spoke a dark-haired, lanky Elf mid-way down the table, who raised a timid hand into the air, "if I may begin?"

"Please." Thranduil gestured to him with an added nod of approval.

The Elf rose to his feet, brown eyes sweeping the company of varying aged male and female Elves amongst him, before, lastly, allowing his gaze to rest on the king, who had his attention. "Word has reached us this morning of the Orcs's whereabouts. Those who had previously trespassed over our lands have been slaughtered as of last night. However, the urgent report from our head guard claims that the Orcs weren't alone and, supposedly, are travelling in numbers far greater than we had initially believed."

Thranduil's crystal blue eyes sharpened. "And have we made contact with any other groups?"

"Not as of yet, my Lord."

"Then send word to recall our troops. The less Elven blood spilt in tracking these worthless fiends, the better."

"Hîr vuin?" inserted a questioning, blonde-haired Elleth seated closer to Thranduil's left, her confused eyes speaking for the group as a whole.

"My instincts tell me that tracking these Orcs any further than Éothéod would be unwise. It would be the ghoulish mindset of those creatures to drive our companies farther and farther from home; from the realm itself. It would leave Mirkwood vulnerable and more susceptible to attacks."

"I have to agree with his Lordship," opined another softly-spoken Elf, who took the liberty of bowing his head towards the king in his high chair. "This chase and catch game of theirs could very well be setting us up for a trap."

"Thank you, Anessen," offered Thranduil in return, speaking with frankness and assertion. "Protecting our borders and our people is of the utmost priority. I see no reason to expound more energy, resources, and troops in pursuit of the Orcs, unless they step foot onto our territory again."

"Has there been any news from our friends in Rivendell or Lothlórien, my Lord?" asked the Elf named Anessen.

"I've received no further information from Lord Elrond since the last full moon to suggest that we're in any kind of mortal danger."

"But, what of Sauron?" questioned another Elleth, her voice hushed as she uttered the dark one's name.

Thranduil's expression remained aloof. "We have nothing to fear. Sauron may still very well be alive, but he's been considerably weakened by his defeat. He will rankle and slip away; I have little doubt of it."

The worried looks from those around the table didn't sway Thranduil's stance on the matter. Very few appeared as convinced by his words that Darkness wouldn't ascend a second time as he, himself, was quite sure of.

 _Or you just don't wish to believe it possible_ , his conscience warned.

The Elf who had been standing inquired as he slid back into his chair, "My Lord, might I suggest we increase our forces around the outer perimeters?"

Thranduil shook his head. "I see no reason to put our guards at even greater personal risk than they've already faced patrolling the inner rims of our forest. The spiders take enough strength and numbers to control."

Although a general murmur broke out at this decision, Thranduil stood his ground, and the council fell silent, especially when he drew out of his chair to abruptly take his leave. "If there are no more pressing matters to discuss, I must beg your pardon and retire for the rest of the day."

An intense hum of activity erupted as Thranduil rushed from the room at all speed, ignoring the many shocked expressions from those he passed in his wake, some of whom seemed more baffled or even vexed than surprised by his hasty, terse termination of their meeting. It was only once he was well clear of the council room that Thranduil realised Lathron was on his heel, apparently determined to follow him all the way back to his bedchambers, if he must.

Upon reaching the end of a dark, abandoned corridor, Thranduil gave in to a halt and whipped around to face his cross secretary, one of the few in his close circle of confidants who never backed down from the disgruntled king, even when he was in one of his touchier mood.

" _What_ , Lathron?" Thranduil demanded with a perturbed curl of his upper lip.

Lathron didn't acknowledge Thranduil's foul temper. Instead, he scrutinised his king considerately, pensively, before deciding on a diplomatic response.

"I think you ought to reconsider that proposal."

"And which one was that?" Thranduil challenged, letting forth some of his exasperation.

Lathron's face was grim, yet insistent. "To increase our defences at the outskirts of the forest, my Lord."

"I considered that suggestion and denied the request."

Thranduil's words were harsh and unyielding, as were the few soft lines that marked his otherwise charming-looking features. Yet Lathron appeared unfazed by the king's bewitching image. Rather, his response was to be disheartened.

"We won't endure the Darkness that's slowly spreading from the south, hîr vuin. Surely, you _must_ know this. We can't stay out of this battle. Lord Elrond has told you so."

"I have no intention to fight," Thranduil dismissed his secretary in a smug tone, prompting Lathron's brow to furrow further with caution.

"Then, might I inquire, _what_ you intend to do about it, my Lord?"

Thranduil's gaze diverted for a fleeting moment from Lathron to a spot over the Elf's shoulder, though Lathron didn't take note of what—or _who_ , rather—had briefly captured the king's attention, for his piercing eyes came back to Lathron a few seconds later and, once more, they appeared untroubled.

"That, Lathron," Thranduil answered, his deep voice slow and calculated, "I will take my leave to ponder in private, provided you'll allow me to do so?"

Lathron's jaw tightened but he conceded with a swift bow. "Of course, my Lord. As you wish."

Thranduil gave his trailing robes a cutting thrash against the floor before he started towards a descending staircase. With his back turned, he halted before the steps and declared over his shoulder, "Oh, and another thing..."

Lathron blinked. "Yes, my Lord?"

Thranduil half turned his head, his angular profile controlled and his chin slightly raised. "Have Berialagoswen summon Tauriel to meet with me this evening. At nightfall."

With another perplexed blink, Lathron practically bowed in half as the king started to amble away. "Certainly, my Lord."

The secretary never heard the Elleth in question trip over the curve of a stone stump as she made to stumble away in haste, not wishing to be caught.

*** * ***

"Has the king expressed why he's asked for me?"

"No, my lady."

"But, surely, there _must_ be a reason?"

Berialagoswen turned to Tauriel casually, his expression offering her no solution or sympathy. "If there is, my lady, I know not," he answered, and Tauriel knew the guard's response was sincere.

Still, Tauriel didn't like this. _Not one bit._

As much as she had been hoping for the past several days to obtain an audience with the king, after unexpectedly stumbling upon King Thranduil and his secretary in a heated argument over Mirkwood's security earlier that day, Tauriel now had viable reason for misgivings. The king had caught her lurking in the shadows, for starters, and, undoubtedly, he wasn't pleased to discover her listening in on what was supposed to be a private conversation. She suspected that that was why he had asked her to meet with him.

 _Probably to reprimand me further for being a curious fool._ Tauriel frowned as they took off in another direction rather than where the king normally dined, uncertain of where they were going. _Why did you have to linger, Tauriel? Why didn't you just keep walking like any other normal Elf? You_ know _curiosity has a track record for getting you in trouble!_

_...That, and your big mouth._

Tauriel swallowed hard and attempted to placate her nerves, reminding herself that she had nothing to fear from King Thranduil. Yes, he was intimidating—he always had been for the some six hundred years she had known him—but he had never, ever shown any indication of hurting her.

_Unless you count his cutting your bow in half and then touching the tip of his sword to your chest a year ago..._

Tauriel rid her mind of that grim reality as fast as she could. She may not have agreed with her king, and indeed thought him to be rather heartless at times, but even she couldn't deny his reasoning for attacking her back. She had threatened him first, after all, and expecting the king to do nothing in return would have been ridiculous, especially after being lectured to in front of his people.

If causing her bodily harm had been in the cards, however, Tauriel was certain that the king would have punished her the moment she stepped foot into Mirkwood territory again. So far, he hadn't threatened her or coaxed her into saying or doing anything foolish.

_So far..._

They suddenly happened upon a pair of doors Tauriel didn't recognise. Two guards were stationed outside and opened the doors for them. Berialagoswen led the way inside, with a freshly hesitant Tauriel trailing behind, suspicious eyes darting about.

The room might have been dark if not for the many torches there were lit along the stone walls. In the centre was a medium-sized pond filled to the brim with the warm waters that ran from Mirkwood's waterfall. Fish of various sizes swam about, some even flipping in and out of the water on occasion, their impulsive, light splashing capturing Tauriel's undivided attention. Her instincts brought her closer to the pond, for she wished nothing more than to watch the fish dance and play before her eyes. She smiled fondly at the remembrance of such a simple, engaging visual from her past, having not watched it with her own eyes in ages.

_Not since Legolas and I use to chase them down the river..._

A brief bit of indulgence was brought to a standstill when Berialagoswen spoke, though he didn't address Tauriel but someone else; someone Tauriel had nearly forgotten about, albeit only for a moment or two.

"Hîr vuin."

Tauriel's emerald eyes met a set of fierce blue and her heart instinctively beat faster against her chest. Those eyes she knew so well surveyed her thoughtfully, dangerously, for an agonising moment before returning to her face.

"Hîr vuin," Tauriel softly acknowledged King Thranduil as well, her voice somewhat hoarse at having been caught off her guard; she bowed her head low, echoing Berialagoswen's respectful gesture.

"Thank you, Berialagoswen," the king responded, his indifferent expression evidently unchanged by the sight of her, "you may leave us."

The retreating of the guard's footsteps, followed by the loud slamming of hefty doors, left Tauriel chilled to the bone. She kept her eyes on the king, however, resolved not to let him suspect the fears prickling beneath the surface of her collected exterior.

"Thank you for coming," King Thranduil surprised Tauriel next by conveying with a certain politeness; he gestured towards a cup of wine he clasped in one hand. "Would you care for some wine?"

"I... No, but thank you. I had some with dinner."

"Then water, perhaps?"

"Thank you, that would be fine."

Thranduil turned around and strolled over to a long, narrow table containing a handful of trays, drinks, and silver goblets. He took the liberty of pouring her a glass of cold water but continued standing at a distance, extending the goblet out to her to take. Tentatively, Tauriel progressed over to him and accepted the offering, her smaller fingers lightly brushing his as she took the goblet from his hand.

The hairs on the back of her neck immediately stood on end and she froze in place. No one touched the king. No one dared. And she hadn't done so since she was young.

 _It's not like I did it on purpose!_ she gulped, unawares of showcasing her shock and abhorrence at such a fumble in the king's presence.

"It's all right, Tauriel," she heard King Thranduil chuckle at her expense; he rarely laughed, so scarcely that the oddity of it probably should have frightened her, but it didn't. "And, I can assure you, your water isn't poisoned."

"I..." Tauriel was abnormally tongue-tied. "Erm, I didn't think it was..."

King Thranduil shrugged, took a slow, appreciative sip of his red wine, and walked away from her. A red-faced Tauriel followed him, making sure to keep a considerable distance between them, and was soon standing before the attractive pond once more, the faint, rippling sound of the water soothing and putting her mind at ease—a bit.

She and King Thranduil stood in silence and reflection there for some time, he, on occasion, sipping his wine and Tauriel eventually taking small tastes of her water, until the stillness became almost unbearable to withstand. She had chanced eying the king sidelong several times over, unsure of what he was contemplating as his eyes stared down into the crisp, sapphire water with an intense concentration.

"Hîr vuin," she finally chanced speaking up, her gaze uneasy as he turned to look at her, "you sent for me?"

"Yes, I did." Tauriel waited and her eyebrows rose the longer he stared without explanation. "How are you liking your return to Mirkwood?" he, at last, inquired, and the red-haired Elleth seemed taken aback by the question.

"Well enough," she settled for replying.

A gentle crease formed at the corner of Thranduil's mouth. "You don't seem at all happy."

The befuddled wrinkles lining Tauriel's brow faded. "I'm not."

"Do explain," he encouraged her without sounding as though he was egging her on. "I lifted your banishment and allowed you to return to your home. I would've thought that that would have made you happy."

"It has..." She paused before adding, "And it hasn't, my Lord. I'm grateful to be amongst my kin again, but I find my time—and presence—here to be a waste..."

"A 'waste'?"

"And a nuisance, if we're to be frank, my Lord."

"A 'nuisance'?" King Thranduil's thick eyebrows came together at a severe angle. "I wouldn't have permitted you to come back here, Tauriel, if I found your presence to be an inconvenience to me."

"Yes, my Lord," she replied, though unconvinced, and Thranduil sensed it.

"Do you wish to leave?"

A flash of panic flickered across her pallid face that didn't go amiss. "No, my Lord. I... I simply don't wish to do _nothing_ whilst I'm here is all." The king's subsequent silence and unreadable countenance as he stared down at her pressed Tauriel to continue, "I know I let you down, my Lord, and I understand that my actions on the battlefield made my banishment impossible to revoke at the time. I have no expectations of being reinstated to my former position as Captain of the Guard—"

"Nor should you," King Thranduil cut in, his tone non-biting but firm, nonetheless. "You disobeyed your king, Tauriel. You refused to return to Mirkwood as commanded, even after I sent Legolas out to summon you back. Then you had the audacity to turn on me before my own company. You pointed an arrow at your king and threatened my life, amongst a host of other wrongful claims you accused me of."

Tauriel tried not to flinch as King Thranduil relayed those unforgettable events as they had unfurled, and without holding back. She may have repeated the proceedings often enough for herself alone, but hearing her series of betrayals from the king's own lips—his voice dripping with unmitigated anger and, worse, profound disappointment—made her actions seem all the more distressing to hear, even if she still very much believed in the principles that had led to those decisions.

"So, no, you should _not_ expect such a luxury from me."

Tauriel quickly averted her eyes, her cheeks blushing a profuse red. "Yes, my Lord."

"Continue, then."

Tauriel's gaze wavered but she did her best to meet his chilling eyes. "I was going to, perhaps, ask of you, my Lord, to provide me with something productive to do? I'd like to be of use to the realm again in some capacity or other. I don't care what that might be, just as long as I have something to do besides..."

 _Think about Kíli_ , she wanted to blurt out but managed to stop herself.

King Thranduil kept silent for a lengthy pause, his eyes moving in a gradual circle from Tauriel to the tranquil pond and back to her again. The cutthroat ire Tauriel had perceived in those blue irises before had seemingly vanished, though she wasn't about to fall under a sense of false security yet. She had been in the presence of her king enough to reckon his unpredictability.

"Very well," he concluded, and Tauriel let out the breath she hadn't been aware of holding in. "If you wish to be useful then I shall take my chances on you one more time."

"Thank you, my Lord." Tauriel provided him with a considerable bow of appreciation.

"But, understand, Tauriel, that there will _not_ be another."

"I understand, my Lord."

King Thranduil's acute response left her slightly off kilter, however. "We shall see."

He stared at her long and hard as he guzzled the remainder of his goblet dry, though its usually delectable contents seemed to have left a dissatisfying taste in his mouth. He continued to sharply appraise her.

"You're not to make yourself privy to any private conversations I might have in the future, either. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"My Lord," Tauriel stammered and mentally tried to brace herself, "I assure you, I wasn't trying to—"

" _Do I make myself clear_?"

Tauriel forced civility from her lips with a restrained, "Yes, my Lord."

King Thranduil nodded in satisfaction, though his gaze had hardened in a matter of seconds. "Mirkwood is no longer your playground, Tauriel. You have grown far too brash and bold these past many moons; but, I realise now that I'm partly to blame for your behaviour. For favouring and indulging you for as long as I did, I enabled you, and I never should have allowed it to continue; I should have put a stop to it long ago."

Tauriel inadvertently stepped back, as though she had received a hard blow to the chest. "My Lord, I... I honestly never meant to suggest that, by following my heart and my beliefs, I haven't appreciated all that you've done for me—"

"And I shall no longer pay you the favours I once did," King Thranduil tore right through Tauriel's quiet candour, his features as hard as stone; the result pained Tauriel deeply, but she remained still. "You will work and you will _prove_ your loyalty to this realm—and to me—or I shan't hesitate to rid you of my presence once and for all."

By the end of King Thranduil's merciless-sounding remark, Tauriel's eyes were wide as saucers and her heart was thumping twice as fast. She could feel a tremendous heat trickling up her neck and onto her face and desperately tried to ignore the strong inclinations that suggested she either retort something she would surely regret, slap her king across the face so hard that it might convey the physical ruthlessness his words had marked on her, or fall to ground and make a real mess of herself by breaking down into tears.

Tauriel opted for none of these scenarios, however. She forced herself to stare squarely into the heartless eyes of her king, the most powerful and awe-inspiring Elf she had ever known and respected, and said nothing.

"Do we understand each other now, Tauriel?" asked King Thranduil in a hushed voice, sliding nearer to her, so close that she could see her wounded reaction in his eyes.

Tauriel responded the only sensible way she could at that moment: she lied.

"Yes, my Lord."

King Thranduil turned his back on her with the same swift, scathing dismissal he had shown his secretary earlier that day. "You may go," he informed her so casually that Tauriel's cheeks burned a flaming red in response.

It took Tauriel another second or two to force her legs to move, but, once they did, she took off for the door two or three strides to her usual one, forcing herself not to turn her head or let a foul word escape her tongue until she was well clear of the king's presence.

Half-way back to her bedchambers and she was absentmindedly wiping furious tears from her eyes. No, her mind was screaming as she turned a corner and started up a couple steep stairs, _we_ don't _know each other! Not at all!_

 _Except for one thing_ , she noted as she finally reached the peaceful refuge that was her personal quarters, _there really isn't any love in my king! I thought, perhaps, I'd been wrong and misjudged him, but no! There really is_ no _love in him, after all!_


End file.
